Status Updates From Orlando (Clásicos ilustrados)

i might reread this at a later date as a detailed analysis of the nature of being an author/writer. only when one does not need to fight or submit to her age-- only when one is of one's age, and is comfortable in her own skin-- can she write and write well. but when will i become comfortable with myself? when will i manage to reconcile the inexperience of my age with the grandeur i have planned for myself?

"And the words went dashing and circling like wild hawks together among the belfries and higher and higher, further and further, faster and faster they circled, till they crashed and fell in a shower of fragments to the ground..."

i love how she writes. there's something so simultaneously nebulous and specific about her choice of words